


The Gay Agenda

by Renegade_Reaper



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, But only a little, Canon Gay Relationship, Christianity, Closeted Character, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, lots more but you'll see I don't want to give it away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-27 17:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renegade_Reaper/pseuds/Renegade_Reaper
Summary: Eden has a normal teenage life. A boyfriend, a place on the dance team, a family who is mostly out of the loop. Everything is great, if you consider mediocrity great. After running head on into a girl in a grocery store, her life is flipped upside down by a pretty girl named Vanessa.Without warning, Eden’s life is thrown into chaos as she navigates a jealous boyfriend, a new best friend, an LGBT club, and a question that rattles her Christian upbringing. High school is hard enough, but with an identity crisis on the rise, how much harder can it get?*This is written in first person, just a heads up! I know a lot of people have problems reading things like that. For those who read my fanfiction, be warned: this is nothing like that. I hope you like it!





	1. Part One: How to Deny the Gay

How did I get so lucky?

I ask myself this as I watch her over the waves of two computers, watch her fall asleep to the sound of my voice and my breathing and my presence. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful; never seen the human embodiment of a love song come to life before my eyes, even as she sleeps.

Pictures do her no justice; pictures never capture her soul. No -- it’s too playful, too fleeting to want to be caught. _Come and catch me_ , it sings, as her storm-across-the-waters eyes glitter at me through what can only do her half of the justice she deserves. I could stare at her image for hours, and yet still there are things I have yet to fall in love with, things I have yet to discover. Things a simple camera could not reveal to me, even if it tried.

I could wax poetic all day about her eyes, in fact I have, but this is something much bigger than just those eyes. My heart cries out with joy every time she looks my way, every time she says my name or says those three words ( _"I adore you,”_ ) that make me want to cry and sing and dance and scream from the roof that _this is the person I have gotten_.

When God knit me together in the womb, did he give me a piece of her and her a bit of me? When he had both of us in mind, did he tie our lives together, twine them through one anothers' and set us free? Did he create her with bits of the heavens, color her eyes with the dusk sky, paint her lips with the cherubs’ song, give her smile the first mornings’ rays?

Did he borrow some of the devils’ wit, give her the tongue off a snake; smooth and delicate and oh, so intricate? He must have placed gold in her heart, given her laugh a thousand precious stones, sang her soul into being himself. The clay he shaped her body with was soft and immaculate, purposeful and gentle.

And yet, when I hold her, I cannot help but thing how perfectly my hand fits into hers, how easily our silence is, how tender and sweet her ministrations are to me. The voice she uses towards me is a thousand times more gentle than with anyone else, except maybe a puppy, and it makes my very being soar.

When she walks, all I see is grace; when she sings, all I can hear is the romantic crackle of an old record player; when she laughs, all that I hear is the joy of a thousand children; when she tells me she loves me, my heart weeps.

The pictures she takes of me are surreal - it’s almost as if she’s painted me into being with the very lense, focusing on the beautiful parts of me that I had never bothered to see before. To her, I do not only _exist_ , I _thrive_.

To her, I am half her heart, I am all she sees, I am so much more than I ever thought I could be. How did someone as simple, as tainted, as broken as me get such a masterpiece as she?

As a child, I dreamed up princes that rescued me from towers and carried me off into the sunset; love that was instant and perfect and so, so unrealistic. In a way, I suppose, she did rescue me.

But it wasn’t from a tower, or from a terrible dragon, or another enemy my six year old mind conjured up. No, it was myself. When all I wanted to do was bleed, to make myself hurt, to drag my body through the mud so all it could do was _feel_ again - she took my hand.

She was the one who pulled me from the rubble, who took all of me in - scraped knees, bleeding heart, teary eyes - brushed me off, and decided that she was going to love me. Decided she was going to stand beside me, to let this broken mess of a person lean on her and dirty her clothes and ask her for her heart.

While I went off and chased the men I decided were my princes, while I took parts of her and made her watch as I dug myself deeper and deeper into a hole, she stayed. She waited. This lovely, beautiful, saint of a woman watched, and waited, and listened.

I went off to figure myself out, only to come back to her and offer my heart, as battered as it was. I hadn’t expected her to take it; but she had smiled, pulled me to my feet, and instead offered me hers.

How did I get so lucky?

This woman, who was sculpted by Michelangelo, painted by Da Vinci, written by Shakespeare, composed by Beethoven, and breathed into by God himself - she loves me.

If she is the sun, then I am her moon; if she is the day, then I am the night; if she is the sea, then I am the sand; if she is the sky, then I am the clouds.

Never could I dream of overshadowing her, never could I hope to outshine her, never could I break her, never could I give her away, never could I think of another the way I think of her.

She is a masterpiece. Not even this could do her justice.

How did I get so lucky?

\- A Love Note from the Author, to Her Love


	2. Chapter One: How to Run Girls Over in a Supermarket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course I didn’t see her. In the pause that followed the climax in the story, I heard a faint cry of, “Oh, fuck!” seconds before I collided into a person. An actual, real, live person.

The first time we met, it was in a grocery store, on the rare occasion that my mom had dragged me shopping with her, despite my constant whining. I was pushing a cart, listening to an audiobook on my phone as I picked through the table of bananas, trying to find the smallest bunch. As much as my mom denied it, she always bought too many. The smell of rotting bananas will forever haunt my nostrils. After picking one and tucking it out of sight, I continued to walk, rounding a corner sharply as the plot of my book came to a climax. Dramatic music and all.

Of course I didn’t see her. In the pause that followed the climax in the story, I heard a faint cry of, “Oh, fuck!” seconds before I collided into a person. An actual, real, live person.

The headphones were ripped out of my ears, right out of my head. I’m about to screech the same words I’d heard only seconds before, my ears throbbing, but then I look down to see the girl I’d hit sprawled out on the floor.

Ever felt like being swallowed by the floor? Yeah, I wanted the floor to reach up and smack me into it. Just, _whap_! Maybe I could die from a head injury. A brain bleed would be preferable to the embarrassment that was trying to eat its way through my stomach. Nobody call 911. This is the death I prefer to die. 

“Oh, my God,” the words tumble out of my mouth. I have to try not to cringe at my own voice. “Oh, God- Are you okay?! Are you hurt?! I’m such a- Here, let me help you-” I pull away from the cart to offer her a hand up.

This was when my headphones, which were attached to my phone in my bra, caught themselves on the shopping cart. It was pushed forward, ramming the metal cart of death into me and toppling over with the grace of a crippled swan. I try to grab onto a display, making some avocados roll to freedom. Be free, little fruits, is my last thought before my life flashes before my eyes.

I went down. Hard. My back collided with the concrete/tile flooring. Avocados rolled. Elbows smashed against the floor. The cart rolled away, feigning innocence. The bastard. My headphones were still dangling off the side of the cart. The phone in my bra was still reading to me, droning quietly.

“Cleanup on aisle five,” the intercom drones not a moment later, only adding to my mortification. I almost hate whatever employee had seen that, but then some small part of me hopes that they had at least gotten a kick out of it. God knows retail workers need it.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself once my lungs remember to work.

I expected to hear some form of “you’re an asshole,” or “hey, watch where you walk,” which I totally deserved. But instead I heard laughter. Loud, boisterous laughter. I push myself up onto my hands, my back shrieking loudly to my brain, which automatically send the nerve endings in my entire back into code red procedures. I was going to need some ice. Or a new spine.

After collecting what was left of my dignity, I look over to see who I had inadvertently probably maybe crippled. (See, mom, _this_ is why we don’t take me into public.)

Turns out, I’d hit a girl. A girl my age, and damn, a very pretty girl. Just my luck. Hopefully she was in another school district, or maybe she was visiting from another country, or maybe she was from an alien race and was only here to confirm that, yes, humans were in need of being wiped out.

I’m sorry, universe.

A soccer-mom looking woman eyes us nastily and makes a big show of moving all the way around us. Inconsiderate of us to fall, I guess.Well, I was the inconsiderate one here, but. Soccer moms.

“Shit,” I say again, my voice faint as the embarrassment floods back, replacing the need for a new vertebrate. I’d look on Amazon for one later. “I am- so, _so_ sorry. I swear I didn’t see you there. The cart just- and then my bra did a thing, and you were there, and… I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t answer right away. Her face is covered by her hair - thick brown curls that tremble with every… sob? That she makes. When she does look up, her face is red with... laughter, not tears. It takes a minute for her to reign herself in, and I fight the urge to give into hysterics and laugh with her.

Once her laughter fades, she sits up, flicking her coffee colored hair over her shoulder and adjusting her tank top.

“Dude,” she says, her voice accented just slightly. Oh, great. A pretty girl with an accent? My reputation was dead. Gone. Fling me into a ditch. “Are you okay? You went down pretty hard.”

“I’m fine!” I croak. “I’m, uh, great. Thanks. Are you okay? I feel like I maybe gave you internal bleeding or something. Should you go to the hospital? Let me get my mom, we can - we can take you!”

I was interrupted by laughter again. “Do you always talk like this?” She asks, picking herself up and reaching down, offering me a hand. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick, I notice before taking it.

“Uh, sometimes.” I say, pausing awkwardly. When she arches an eyebrow, expecting more, I launch into senseless rambling that would put politicians to shame.

“I guess. When I’m nervous, or when I don’t know what to say, or when I think somebody doesn’t like me. Or I guess when I knock people over in the middle of a store. But that’s a new development. I’m going to add that to my list,” I laugh nervously.

“I’m Vanessa,” The girl - Vanessa - says, cutting me off and catching my eyes. Hers were grey, lit up with amusement. “Do you run into people often, or am I just special?”

I sputter like a rusted old car, unsure how to answer. “I-I don’t… not usually the, uh, way I meet new people-”

“Well it’s definitely a conversation starter.” Vanessa laughs. “Nice to meet you, ah…” She cocks her head to the side. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Eden,” I say quickly, my face hot. “Eden Marie Jones.” Somehow, my brain had decided along the way that adding my full name was smart. Not smart, by the way. That’s how you get your identity or your social security number stolen, probably.

“Eden Marie Jones,” she recites, and I have to swallow my tongue. Accents, man. Just. Accents.

“Interesting name,” Vanessa grins. “I like it. Nice to crash into you, Eden. But, for the record, I don’t think other people like to be knocked over. Maybe try finding a new way to meet new people.” She turns, beginning to walk away.

I wanted to call after her, maybe ask her once again if she was alright, or if she wanted to press charges. I would have, I tell myself as she walks away. Probably. Maybe.

My mom calls my name from a few aisles down. I hobble over to the cart, still sitting pretty and pretending like it wasn’t an active assaulter, pulling it away from a stand of oranges. My back was killing me. My face was red. I didn’t have a good reason for it - any of it.

Today was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Are you hooked yet?


	3. Step Two: How to Make Friends With Pretty Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I found out a few weeks later through the normal gossip chains that the girl who my shopping cart had tried to murder a few weeks prior had transferred to my school. Apparently her family had moved here from the upper part of the States to California; specifically to my part of California

So, I found out a few weeks later through the normal gossip chains that the girl who my shopping cart had tried to murder a few weeks prior had transferred to my school. Apparently her family had moved here from the upper part of the States to California; specifically to my part of California.

Not that I owned a specific part of California, my bank account would laugh at me and jump off a cliff. I would also laugh at me and jump off a cliff. California was a pit of inconsistent weather (unless it was the dead of summer) and, in my area, conservative religious people who liked to hit you as hard as they can with their version of the Bible.

She didn’t show up until two weeks after the person who did morning announcements told us there was going to be a new girl in school. Honestly, though, a lot of people didn’t really care. We weren’t a huge school, but we were big enough that a new person could slip in unnoticed my and we’d act as though they’d been here the entire time.

When I found out it was Vanessa, though, I had almost died on the spot. But not for medical reasons. Just out of embarrassment.

The new trend for me seemed to be hitting people with metal objects and injuring them. Namely girls who were in the same place as me and who had already fallen victim to my unintentionally abuse.

She was walking through the halls just before the bell rang for class. I was opening my locker to grab my books, but instead of accomplishing what should’ve been a simple task, I smacked Vanessa in the face with my locker door.

“Ow,” comes the complaint, in a voice that made my spine twinge in an unwanted reminder of the grocery store incident.

I pause. Close my eyes. Wish I was dead. And peek around the locker door.

“Hi,” I offer awkwardly. Because that was what you said to someone you regularly assaulted. Instead of apologizing.

Vanessa squints at me, rubbing her forehead. Recognition flashes in her eyes after a moment and she snorts, shaking her head. “Eden. I should’ve known.”

My face flushes and I close the locker door a little harder than was necessary. “Sorry, I-”

“I see you still haven’t figured out a way to make new friends,” she teases, her voice lilting and shifting into something more gentle, as though she was trying to ease my nerves.

“Guess not.” I agree sheepishly, rubbing my neck. “Uh, welcome to Greenwood High. I promise the other people here aren’t as violent…”

“How disappointing.” Vanessa laughs, checking her fingers for blood. Luckily it was only going to give her a bruise (now I was considering this to be lucky?? Geez, what were my standards now…).

“What’s your first class?” I ask, desperate to change the subject, because, well, that’s what normal people did. I happened to want to stay on this girl’s good side, so… normal was the goal.

She pulls out a piece of paper from her back pocket, unfolding it and frowning. “Uh… Chemistry One.”

“Oh, hey, me too!” I grin. “Want me to walk you?”

“Are you just trying to win me over without using metal objects?” She asks, feigning suspicion. “Because if you are, then I accept.”

“Guilty.” I laugh, shaking my head. “Come on, it’s this way.”

I steal her schedule as we walk, pointing out classrooms she’ll be in if we happen to pass them or telling her about the teachers on her list I’ve had before. It’s nice, and for once, somewhat normal.

The only free desk in the classroom is the one right up front. I’m a little bummed, mostly because I liked I liked to sit somewhat in the middle to keep an eye on my surroundings, but it was better I guess. I’d probably want to talk to her the whole time if she sat next to me. Plus, this gave me the chance to notice things about her that I hadn’t been able to notice before (panicking tended to blot out the details).

Vanessa was the type of pretty that didn’t set her apart from others like a model might. She had dark brown, curly hair pulled into a thick ponytail. Her skin was tanned, and not in the bronzer way that the girls who went to Los Angeles for a three day weekend tended to sport. It was natural. Combining that with her slight accent, I guessed maybe she was from Latin descent.

Her jeans were well worn, just as loved as her beat up high tops that she scuffed on the floor. Chelsea, one of the nicer girls from the volleyball team, had caught Vanessa up into a conversation, and she was smiling politely and nodding along. I had no doubts that Chelsea was trying to recruit her for volleyball - she tried that on everyone who was nice enough to humor her.

Before she could politely decline, the teacher, Mr. Mathis, walks into the room claps his thick, beefy hands together. “Alright, alright. Calm down, kids. Take your seats and we can start role.”

Chemistry was usually uneventful, except the rare occasion that something new had happened. A lot of times it was some of the guys coming in early and causing some sort of disaster by mixing chemicals you weren’t supposed to in an effort to make a stink bomb or tampering with previous classes assignments.

In this case, it was Vanessa. During what was supposed to be lab-taking and note-writing, everyone turned their attention to the new girl. A few of the girls surged forward to talk, but the majority of the class hung back to suss out what kind of person she was.

Vanessa handled it with a lot more ease that I probably had in the entirety of my being.

We didn’t see each other much after class, mostly because she had to talk to the teacher about making up assignments or how to get caught up in the class. I guessed she had to do this in all her classes, because I didn’t see her again until the bell rang and I was on my way out the door.

I swear she doesn’t see me, and I don’t make an effort to catch her attention, but after I’m only a few feet away from her locker, she calls out to me.

“Bye, Eden!”

Her voice rings out over the hubbub of the hall. I turn, giving her a wave and a smile. “Bye!” I call back, but my voice is swallowed up by the mess of voices and clanging of closing locker doors.

⤐♡⬷

I couldn’t sleep.

Tossing and turning in bed is worse than lying awake. For one thing, your body hurts a ton after moving so much. Second, my cat was an eternal flame of rage because my legs were moving into her deemed personal space and she wasn’t happy about it.

For the record, a sore body and bitten toes are not a great way to fall asleep.

Why was I so restless, you ask? You probably already know the answer to that, because my life is full of predictable twists and turns. How hard was it to just… fall asleep? Apparently too hard, because all I could think about was the fact that Vanessa probably hadn’t heard me this afternoon, and maybe she thought I was a bitch because of it, or maybe she was sad because she thought I hadn’t replied.

At this point, I was even willing to go through and silently relive every embarrassing moment I had ever experienced in my short seventeen years of life, instead of thinking about this one thing. There was a lot more ammo in the three years I’d spent in middle school than there was in those thirty seconds this afternoon! Pick your poison. Pick any other poison than the one you have now.

Unfortunately for me, my mind liked to think more about girls I had mowed over in the supermarket, and the fact that it was weird to think about girls I had mowed over in the supermarket, and how weird it was that I was obsessing over an interaction simpler than all the other ones we’d had so far.

After a lot more tossing and turning and thinking, I get up and decided to venture down the creaky stairs for a snack or a change of scenery or… something.

I was hoping maybe my trek would include some spiritual enlightenment, but Oreos and a Coke sounded pretty rad, too. Either was a better alternative to laying in bed, staring at the sticky glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling until they blur together into a blob.

To my surprise, mom was still up when I made it down the stairs. Usually she was asleep long before now - her record time for falling asleep was 6 o’clock. She was busily emptying out the contents of the refrigerator.

I chance a look at the clock, hoping it was a reasonable time so that a lecture about school and waking up and other things would be more mild. 2:48 in the AM. Just my luck. I brace myself for the reminder that I had to be up for school in exactly three hours and twelve minutes.

“What are you doing up?” My mother asks. She sounded irritated, but her face seemed to be more tired than anything.

Her honey blonde hair was piled messily on her head, streaked with more grey. Her blue eyes seemed to be encased in a few more wrinkles, and even more weighed down with worry lines on her forehead.

I think my mother had been pretty, once. She seems like she would be a pretty person. If only it weren’t for the apparent signs of early aging and stress that weathered her face. Not to mention she was an angry person generally, and anger was an emotion that writ itself into your body in a physical manifestation.

For as long as I could remember, my mom had always looked like she was exhausted, just having rolled out of bed. It was almost like the one hangover I’d had in my life; complete with the dark circles and sluggish attitude. My mom had a permanent hangover, but not from alcohol. Just from life.

“Nothin’.” I answer finally, walking over to the cabinet and pulling out a couple packets of mini Oreos. When she raises one eyebrow, her mouth twisting at the edges, I add a slightly better explanation. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d try eating something.”

“Oreos are hardly a good bedtime snack,” She sighs, with no real conviction. By the time my little brother had turned thirteen, she’d given up on trying to police us with things like cheese and celery sticks. This was only a formality.

I shrug. “Yeah, well. Teenager cravings and all that.”

Mom grunts in reply, blowing a part of her choppy bangs out of her face. I half expected her to say something else, but she turns back to clearing the old leftovers and tupperware from the massive cavity that was our fridge.

“So,” I clear my throat, sliding past her and reaching for a can of soda. “What’re you doing in the kitchen at two in the morning?”

She glances over at me over the rim of her square glasses. “Something smells in here. I couldn’t go to bed with the thought of it in my head.”

This earns a nod from me and silence for a moment while I busy myself with opening my Oreos. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“How was school?” Mom asks after a moment, pulling out a tupperware and opening it to sniff the contents. Instantly, her face contorts into an expression of disgust.

“It was good,” I shrug, leaning against the counter. “There’s a new girl.” I add, stuffing my face with Oreos. My mom gives me a flat look at the lack of manners she had tried to teach me. I smile sheepishly, sure that my teeth are covered in black cookie crumbs.

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you two friends?” She asks, once again huffing softly to blow that choppy section of bangs out of her eyes.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I think. I saw her in the store a couple weeks ago.” I lift a shoulder, popping the tab on the can of Coke. “She’s pretty cool.”

“That’s good.” My mom says, gesturing for me to pull the garbage can over. I kick it to her, wincing when it makes a loud noise. She gives me a look that says _what did you think would happen?_

I continue after we both are silent. Mom scrapes the nasty food into the garbage can. The grandfather clock in the living room informs us that it’s three in the morning. Distantly, I wonder if I should go to bed, but also I don’t feel like it’s fair to leave my mom in the kitchen alone.

“She’s got this really pretty, curly hair and she’s so nice.” I start up again, sipping my drink and coughing when the bubbles go up my nose. “Everyone seems to like her.”

“Has Nathan said anything about it?” Mom asks, looking up at me.

I push my hair out of my eyes, shaking my head. “Nah, he’s still away on vacation with his family.” I silently hope he doesn’t say anything or notice Vanessa, for her sake and mine.

My boyfriend, Nathan, is… nice, but he does some pretty questionable stuff when it comes to other girls. There were rumors a few times that he cheated on me, but I’m not sure that I trust rumors. I’ve never asked him. That’s just a fight I don’t want to have. We have many, and that was not one that needed to be had.

Really, our relationship was more of an arrangement between our parents. His family goes to the same church as mine, so when he asked me out, I kind of felt obligated to say yes. My mom adores him and his parents. My dad pretends to be indifferent, but they talk Star Wars and football, so I know that he likes Nathan.

Dating Nathan was more an obligation than something I actually enjoyed. I’d thought many times about dumping him. The only reason I haven’t yet is that I’m not sure how it’ll impact the family - both his and mine. The tension will definitely change my parent’s and his parent’s relationship, and I don’t know that I have the energy to deal with something like that. Not to mention his passive aggressive way of speaking (or not speaking) to me when he’s mad.

“You should probably go to bed, sweets.” My moms voice cuts through my thoughts.

“What? Oh, yeah. Probably.” I dump the rest of the Oreos into my mouth, then mumble around them, “Need any help?” It was my last ditch effort to avoid sleeping.

“No, I’m alright. I’m almost through here. Besides, don’t you have a quiz tomorrow in English?”

“Ugh, _mom_ ,” I groan, tossing my trash in their respective bins, but pushing off the counter anyways. “Please don’t remind me. I’m trying to erase that from my mind.”

“Mhmm.” She hums, rolling her eyes. I grin, leaning over and kissing her cheek.

“Night, mom.”

“Night, Eden,” She smiles. “I love you.”

“Love you.”

I start the trek upstairs, my mind finally quiet enough to where I think I could fall asleep. Something in me whispers that it wasn’t going to last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated <3 this is my baby.  
> come yell at me on tumblr, @renywrites

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to hell!
> 
> Not actual hell for you guys, but hell for me because writing this beast was an emotional rollercoaster. It's finished and I'm currently in the process of editing and re-writing (I was hoping to get it published, but I thought maybe you guys would appreciate it more) so I will post a chapter a week. I guess Wednesdays are the day!
> 
> This story was my way of coming out to myself, realizing I was in love with lovely girlfriend, and surviving the chaos that ensued afterwards. It does have some religious aspects, because I am Christian and I know that the church - any church - condemns us LGBTQ+ people, despite what they preach. For all of us grappling with religion and sexuality: you are not alone.
> 
> Please feel free to comment! Let me know how you came to terms with your sexuality, or how much you love your significant other, or even how you're struggling with being something different than the confines of gender roles and society, or even what character you relate to the most! 
> 
> I hope this story brings you as much joy as it brought me while writing it. With love,  
> Reny


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